Raising Ryan

Chapter 19 – A Typical Teen

Ryan stepped into the kitchen with his gear bag in tow. It had been a full week since he received his stitches and since soccer wasn't played with the hands, the doctor cleared him to take the field. He wasn't surprised to find Kirsten, already dressed in her 'soccer Mom' attire, messing with the rolling cooler. He watched her dump a large bag of ice into the bottom of the cooler before loading countless bottles of water and Gatorade inside.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked, even though he was watching exactly what she was doing.

"I'm getting ready for soccer. Do you have all your things?"

"Kirsten, who's going to drink all of that?"

"Well, I missed the game last week so, I just thought…"

"Kirsten, you don't have to make up missed Gatorade."

"I know," she remarked. "But still, I wanted to. Grab that backpack too," she instructed next, pointing at a prepared bag on the counter.

Slinging the pack onto his shoulder, "What the hell is in here?" Ryan complained at its weight.

"You know, the usual…granola bars, sports bars…gummy bears…"

"Gummy bears?"

Kirsten nervously threaded the afternoon's schedule into her purse. "There's some Swedish fish in there too. They looked good at the supermarket! Don't make fun!"

Clucking his tongue against his teeth, he bent down and grabbed his gear bag. It was game time.

The stands were particularly full at this game, since the remainder of the season hung in the balance. If Harbor won today, they would go on to the playoffs, but if they lost, their season was over. Kirsten waited while Ryan and Sandy lowered the filled cooler from the back of the Rover. Tugging on the handle she led the way toward the field.

"You are so the Gatorade Queen! Go Mom!" Seth mocked.

"And I guess that means your not the Gatorade gentlemen, or you'd be lugging that for your Mother," Sandy pointed out.

"I don't see anything in your hands," Seth retaliated.

The two paused in the parking lot for a moment.

"Yeah, I've got no comeback for that," Sandy finally admitted.

"It's my Gatorade, I'll pull it," Kirsten announced bravely…until she got to the curb. "A little help guys."

With the cooler up on the grass, Sandy took over dragging it through the rough terrain. He followed Ryan through the gate and parked the cooler near Harbor's bench. "You better check in with your Coach, kid."

"Okay. I'll see you guys later."

"Good luck today Ryan! Play hard!" Kirsten yelled as he ran across the field to meet up with the other boys who had already arrived.

The Cohens, minus one, made their way into the stands and managed to fit into a small space still available right in the middle and down in the front. Kirsten took out her camera and prepared it for the game. She had lots of shots of Ryan playing soccer but she wanted more, just incase this turned out to be the last game of the season.

Once the game was underway, it didn't take long for Ryan's teammates to start dipping into the cooler for drinks and the backpack for a quick pick-me-up during the game.

There was a small break in between the periods of play when Kirsten noticed Ryan sitting on the bench with some of the other boys. All of them with a bottle of Gatorade between their thighs, all of the chewing on gummy bears and Swedish fish. Embracing the Kodak moment that was so graciously unfolding right in front of her, she quickly snapped off a few shots of Ryan and the boys as well as a few close ups of Ryan. These were her favorite photos to take of him, when he was enjoying himself and he had no idea she was watching him.

Down on the bench the boys praised Ryan for 'hooking the team up".

"Dude! This was such a great idea to bring this stuff! I love these damn fish!"

"Kirsten did all of this. She thought everyone would like it," Ryan explained.

"Man, your Mom is so cool!" one of the boys praised again.

Ryan put another fish in his mouth and looked down at the bag of red fish in his hand. His Mom was cool. And someone else even said it out loud. They weren't saying his Mom was drunk or a loser. She was cool. He'd never had anyone say that about his real Mom. Ever.

The Coach blew the whistle for the team to huddle up. After a brief discussion of plays and defense, the boys each put their hands in a circle and yelled "Go Harbor!" in military fashion. Walking back to his gear bag, Ryan caught Kirsten's eye and he showed her his bag of fish. Smiling he tossed them into his bag before taking the field to finish the game.

Early in the game Harbor's Captain had scored a goal giving their team the early advantage. But the other team rallied at the end of the first period and scored a goal just before the break. As if things had flip-flopped for the second half, the other team scored first and it was Harbor that caught up a while later. The second half was brutal. To say boys on both teams were out for blood was an understatement. Everything was on the line and it was coming down to these last five minutes. It was a deciding game so there would be no tie. Someone had to win and both teams wanted it, badly.

Play was getting rough on the field. Pushing and shoving was becoming a constant staple in between whistles. Many of the boys had been warned about their conduct, Ryan included.

At the last time out, the Coach warned his team, "I want you guys to be aggressive but don't cross the line. No yellow cards guys! I need you guys on the field! Everything you do in this last five minutes counts! Do. Not. Get. Carded! Now dig deep and give me everything you've got! Show that team you boys are the ones who deserve to go to the playoffs! Let's go!"

Several of the boys guzzled a quick mouthful of Gatorade before returning to the field. Kirsten noticed Ryan was fired up but he looked exhausted. He'd proven to be on of Harbor's best players and the Coach never allowed him to get comfortable on the bench as a result of it.

When the referee whistled again, the game was thrown into motion once more. It was obvious that both teams received the same motivation from their coaches and both were playing even stronger than before. The ball moved up and down the field with both teams defending their goals accurately and not giving up any points.

With only two minutes left, play on the field was starting to wear down. The boys were starting to drag and yet they all knew, one careless mistake would cost their team a chance at the playoffs. Boys were tripping more, passes were getting sloppy and coaches on both sidelines were losing their minds.

Ryan kept his eye on the ball as it moved quickly down field yet again, in the direction of the opposing team's goal. 'Come on' he thought out loud. 'We only need one.'

As if he was heard but the soccer Gods, a mad scramble broke out in the center of the field with the ball squirting loose and heading right for Ryan. Digging his cleats into the lush grass as hard as he could, he mustered every last bit of energy to beat the other team back to the loose ball. Stealing it away, he dribbled it between his feet, heading straight for the goalie. This was it. This would either win or lose the game for Harbor. He recognized the intensity in the goalie's face, he was thinking the exact same thing for his team.

As Ryan approached the net, he could hear the thunder of running boys behind him as well as the panting and grunting from all the blocking that was going on. He concentrated on the ball. Rapidly approaching the goalie now, he faked right, shifted his weight and kicked left with all his might, growling in the process. He watched the ball sail through the air and waited to see what would happen.

The goalie dove to the right at Ryan's first move, hoping to save the ball. He wasn't prepared for the fake however and all he could do was watch the ball slide down the back of the net. Harbor had scored.

The stands went nuts. Ryan fell to his knees after the whistle blew. It was like he didn't even save enough energy to walk off the field. His team swarmed him in one big pile. When they eventually climbed off of him, the team captain and another boy walked Ryan to the bench. The Coach immediately reached into the infamous cooler for a bottle of cold water, opened it and handed it to Ryan.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" he praised. "Come kid, drink some of this." He watched Ryan take the bottle in his shaky hands and guzzle some water. When he took a breather from drinking the coach cupped his face in his hands. "I am so proud of you kid! That was a beautiful move! BEAUTIFUL!" Giving Ryan congratulatory slap on the cheek, "You did great kid! You're done buddy. Drink that up and cheer your guys on."

As quickly as he was there to praise Ryan, the Coach was off yelling at the boys who were still on the field to keep their heads out of their asses because there was still a minute left in the game, anything could happen. Ryan sat quietly sipping his water. He was dizzy from all the excitement. The other team made one more solid drive down the field but Harbor was on top of them every step of the way. When the horn sounded, signaling the end of the game, the celebrating began.

Ryan stood up slowly from the bench, it's not that he didn't want to celebrate, it was that his legs had already given up on him. He reached down into the cooler for one more bottle of water. When he stood up, something caught the corner of his eye. A beat-up, old, tan Pontiac was pulling out of the school lot and hurriedly heading in the direction of the expressway. It vanished almost as quickly as he had noticed it. It couldn't have been. Could it? Ryan knew there was no other car like that and he only knew one person that owned a car like that and who would have the guts to park it in a lot full of luxury cars…his Mother. As if it were a ghost, the sighting was fleeting and Ryan wished, momentarily, that he could have a second look, a better look, at what he thought he saw. But his teammates wouldn't allow it. They'd won the game because of Ryan's goal and now they were going to the playoffs. There was celebrating to be done and the game's MVP was standing on the sideline with a bottle of water in his hand.

Against his will, Ryan was hoisted up on the shoulders of two boys. There was some ridiculously goofy chanting going on before they allowed him down on solid ground again.

In the stands, Kirsten was hoping to get some great shots with her camera and commented out loud how she had to stop crying to she could see what she was shooting.

It took a long time for the boys to come off the field, everyone was savoring the victory and no parent rushed their son home that afternoon. Back at the car, Sandy loaded the, now empty, cooler into the back of the Rover.

"Sandy Cohen," a man addressed. "I had no idea you had a boy on the team."

"Gary, good to see you," Sandy greeted, shaking the man's hand. "Not only do I have a boy on the team, he scored the winning goal today. This is Ryan."

"Hey kid, great shot today. You did your team proud."

"Thanks," Ryan blushed under the praise.

"Hey Ryan," the team captain interrupted. "Celebration at my place! Go home, clean up, and get over there!"

"Cool. See ya there."

Sandy and Kirsten snuggled on their bed, reliving the day's events. Ryan had such a glow on his face when he left for the party. They were surprised Seth declined Ryan's invitation to tag along. Looking back on everything they'd been through until this point, who knew Ryan would ever be like a normal kid.

A sudden urge for some microwave popcorn had Kirsten wandering downstairs to zap herself a bag. Heading back toward the stairs, she bumped into Ryan coming in through the front door. I was only midnight, rather early by Ryan's standards.

She watched him wrestle to free his key from the lock, before he slammed the door, took two steps forward, apparently forgot there were steps in the foyer and face planted himself on the tiles.

"Ryan?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh Ryan! You're drunk!"

"Uh huh."

Setting her bag of popped corn down, she crouched down next to Ryan to help him sit up. He instantly put his hand to his head to rub his new, self-inflicted wound.

"That's going to need some ice," Kirsten said flatly. "Come on, get up."

Without arguing, Ryan allowed Kirsten to help pull him to his feet and he hobbled off to the kitchen under her direction.

Irritated, she plopped him down at the kitchen table, rather unsympathetically, and went about preparing an ice pack for him. Wrapping the cold bag in a damp washrag, she placed it against his head as he winced.

He tipped his head up to her, using his puppy dog eyes to the best of his ability.

"Don't give me those eyes," Kirsten stated, standing her ground.

"Don't be mad," Ryan replied, almost pleadingly.

"Don't be mad? Ryan, you're drunk."

Sighing, "This is different."

It was an odd remark coming from Ryan and Kirsten was curious for him to explain more. "What do you mean?"

Licking his lips, he closed his eyes momentarily. "I won the game Kirsten. This was fun."

Raising her eyebrows, "Getting drunk was fun?"

"Yeah, until I fell down in the living room," he slurred back. "I was just…being a kid. This had nothing to do with my Mom…or my past. It was a party. I don't think…I don't think I've ever gotten drunk solely for the sake of having fun. Like you used to say, I was always running, hiding from something. I wasn't hiding tonight. I was having fun with my team. Don't be mad. Okay?"

Kirsten had a love/hate relationship with Ryan's drinking. She hated seeing him drunk, but when he was drunk, he was brutally honest. Yes, he was underage and shouldn't be drinking in the first place, but Ryan wasn't your average kid. It pulled her heartstrings to know he realized the difference between drinking to drown his emotions, and drinking, as he stated, to have fun.

"Okay Ryan, I won't be angry."

"Really?"

"Really. I know you're going to drink whether I want you to or not, but I want you to work on not drinking until you're drunk. There's no reason to get completely wasted when you drink," she explained.

"I know. I was playing a game."

"A game?"

"Uh huh. I lost." A weak smile crept onto his face and melted Kirsten's anger away.

"Alright Ryan. Time to call it a night. Let's get you into bed."

In the pool house, getting a drunk Ryan into bed was becoming old news. Kirsten walked him up the steps and into the bathroom, only this time he gave her the courtesy of waiting until she left the room before he relieved himself.

Stumbling back down the steps, Ryan was happy to be laying on his bed. He watched Kirsten pull his blanket up on him before rewrapping his ice pack and putting in next to his head.

Snuggling up against the ice pack, "You're a good Mom."

The comment surprised Kirsten. "What?"

"You love me no matter what. And today, the guys said I have a cool Mom. No one's ever said that before."

That was a hard comment to argue with. It was the first time it ever occurred to Kirsten that Ryan's life was about more than just what went on in the Cohen household and what went on in Chino before Ryan arrived in Newport. In one day, his Coach praised him, his team praised him, hell, even someone he'd never met before praised him about his goal. This really was a big day for him, on many levels.

Finding it hard to control the smile that wanted to take over her face, "Well, now that we're getting your drunk for all the right reasons, can we work on celebrating without getting drunk at all?"

Ryan attempted to be funny by wrinkling his face as if he was truly considering her request.

"Not funny!" she laughed. "Get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."

Frowning at Kirsten, "When was the last time you were drunk? Good time is now. Tomorrow morning I'll be puking."

"You're probably right, so I hope it was worth it," she mothered, getting in one last line.

"It was."

Bending down Kirsten kissed his forehead and straightened his covers one more time. "I'll check on you in a little while. I don't want that ice pack to melt all over your bed."

Ryan looked so peacefully content. Granted half of it was probably the alcohol but she knew this day meant a lot to him. It was the type of day he'd probably only thought about in his dreams.

She waited about an hour before checking on him one more time. He was just as she left him and the ice pack was indeed starting to leak onto his pillow. Gently pulling the ice pack away from his head, she brushed the hair out of his sleeping eyes and caressed his rosy cheek with her hand momentarily. The alcohol was still keeping him plenty warm was his skin was warm to the touch. Cupping the leaking bag in her hands, she left him to sleep it off.

(TBC)…

A/N – Sorry this one is a little on the short side, but we accomplished what we wanted to here and I didn't want to start the next 'thing' here…(I need more room for that one): D